


The dinner

by heme



Series: Chemistry student Deidara [7]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heme/pseuds/heme
Summary: Sasori, Deidara, and Itachi were having dinner at a nearby restaurant.
Relationships: Deidara/Sasori (Naruto)
Series: Chemistry student Deidara [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813744
Kudos: 12





	The dinner

**Author's Note:**

> now some sweet Sasori torture as a rewrite of my deleted work.
> 
> Warning: it's crack, so much ridiculous crack it hurts.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Uchiha?”

“Yes, Iwa?”

“You seen the email from the master?”

“Hn.” The raven who sat near a window rubbed his stress lines, logging onto his email account assigned by the university. It was no prank from Iwa, an unread college email with its priority set as the red exclamation mark high hopped into his view.

“… I’ll take that as a no, un.” Opposite the man now known as the Uchiha, a long – haired student with an obscene amount of eyeliner took a nibble out of a burger. It was great according to the corresponding taste an end – of – the – month student should have, the beef patty was seasoned right on point and seared perfectly. Definitely worth the money. He chewed on his food, afterwards swallowing it in rapid gulps, “Congratulations on your performances in the collections.” Laced with toxic sarcasm, he quoted the email, “Yeah, fucking congratulations, un. All the other colleges gave their undergrads money after the collections as a reward. Congratulations, really?”

A textbook about flow destabilisation and turbulence was closed by a petite redhead sitting at the same table. He took no jabs at the blond’s speech impediment, rather amusing himself over the two freshmen’s utter ignorance, “Tch. Same old, same old. Did I told you the story about the guy at my old high school who applied to the same college as us, brat?” Brat was used in place of its plural form, which signified the title was addressed not to the Uchiha.

“No, un.”

“Right. There was the guy in the same year as me. As always, the deadline for English conditions was July 31st, with each exam session taking 7 days to deliver your score report. He received his scores on July 25th, and he failed by one mark the condition for one of the components. A twenty – four instead of the twenty – five.” The pale baby – face chuckled, “So he sent an email to the undergraduate affairs, using the excuse ‘I studied in an English language environment for four years, so please take my language abilities as sufficient.’ The educational affairs office of my school was even kind enough to provide him with a signed proof.”

The Uchiha slightly opened his eyes, receiving the story with an intrigued “Hn.” Followed up was the neighbouring chemistry student who was pulling loose strands of hair up stuck on his tongue into a bun, “And what, Danna? Did the undergrad affairs even respond to his email, un? I mean, it’s either the same day or two weeks for the slowpokes to reply.”

“He got a reply the next day. The email, which I quote,” the engineering student could not hide his amused chuckles, “You are only one mark away from the requirement! Hence there is no need for using the proof from your school, please do go and have another attempt and pass the threshold! I have faith in your abilities.”

Several coughs from the raven was heard. It appears as if he choked on his sparkling water. The brat sniggered at the Uchiha’s loss of control, and the sheer absurdity mixed with rough realism of the story.

“Wow, sounds like something you would do, Danna, un.”

“Wrong, brat. If I worked in undergrad affairs, Jashin curse me if I did, I would reply with a ‘There is no need for the proof. You are two days too late to get the scores in time. Please, do not sign up for the exam to have another attempt, because it is a total waste of time and money.” The man waited for a precise three seconds, “Line break. Line break. With warm regards, Sasori Akasuna.”

“Sasori, have I ever told you that you are a total schmuck?”

“A negative, Itachi.” Sasori smirked, “According to most, schmuck is too light an adjective. Dickwad with a stick so far up my arse that it is poking out of my mouth is the more common description.”

“Hn.” The very Uchiha reply indeed.

Deidara interrupted, “Watch your mouth, Uchiha. Don’t you ever call Sasori – no – Danna a bitch, un.”

“I never did, Iwa. But you might want to consider yourself as one, since nonsensical foolish imageries are pouring out of your mouth akin to the rate of new leaves growing at spring [1].”

“Fuck you Uchiha, un!”

“My sincere apologies, Iwa, but I am not gay for you. In addition, fornicating with a third – party without the acknowledgement of the person whom you are married with counts as cheating. Your Danna will be very disappointed.”

Sasori choked on his iced tea. Itachi then received a whack on the front of his head with an engineering reference book by a short tempered Akasuna.

“Itachi, nobody’s in love with the brat. Except for some stupid schoolgirl who cannot even distinguish between infatuation and love.”

The weasel gave Sasori an incredulous stare. There was the man who proved to the entire undergraduate population and some faculty members he was the greatest fanboy of Deidara, yet opted to outright deny his subconscious flirting with the sculptor.

“Hey, un! I’m not that unattractive.” Somewhat offended by the indirect insult at his well – maintained appearance, Deidara snapped back.

“To be honest, Iwa, you are not for the light – hearted.”

“And you come with the package of Sasuke’s crazy fangirls, Uchiha, un.”

Sasori rolled his clouded brown eyes at the immaturity of the two freshmen, “Quiet with your bickering, you two. I swear you chatty old ladies could have fooled me for Chiyo and her bunch of bridge friends.”

The grandmother of Sasori, Chiyo, retired at the ripe old age of sixty and five in a small wooden house, sauna included, somewhere in Finland. Her time where shifts in the hospital previously occupied, were now replaced by fishing trips around Finnish lakes with her younger brother Ebizo and a coworker named Tsunade who resigned premature due to mental issues.

If only Sasori had known how much of a bad influence Tsunade was onto Chiyo. The ‘slug princess’, as Chiyo dubbed Tsunade, nickname inspired from one of her earlier research topics on properties of mucus and a mucin – structure influenced self – cleaning surface, was a compulsive gambler. She picked up her gambling obsession from her doting grandfather, Hashirama Senju, and gladly passed onto Chiyo. Many times, had Ebizo felt the compulsion to knock some sense back into his elder sister regarding her new gambling habit.

“By the way,” Itachi interrupted the three – way argument, “Even though the college act as if they are going bankrupt, they are in fact incredibly rich. My granduncle Kagami went to the other school in the 1950s, and due to reasons I have unfortunately forgotten – it’s been a while since I heard the story from Shisui – was invited by the college master to a dinner. The master, at the end of the dinner, asked one of his attendees to grab a wine from the seventies down from the college cellar. It was the 1950s, and by the seventies, he meant the 1870s.”

The redhead stood up and tapped his foot on the ground in a gesture of impatience, “Alright grannies, let’s pay the bill and get going back.” Arms were crossed beneath the chest to complete the picture of Sasori, captioned at the side with ‘don’t make me wait’.

“Iwa, Sasori. My mother overestimated my monthly spendings, and I have far too much money from my monthly allowances in my bank account.” The artist duo, after hearing their names mentioned and the subsequent unimaginable story, raised a single eyebrow each. Itachi wondered about their apparent similarities in so many ways, especially their elephant – sized egos, “Let me pay.”

“Wow, Uchiha, such a nice deal, un. What a miracle of Jashin you have finally bestowed us some of your kindness.”

“Stop bickering, brat.”

“Sorry Danna, un.”

“Iwa, the only miracle here is the fact that you and Sasori are still not together despite –” there went the handy dandy weaponised textbook flying at high speeds onto the anterior of Itachi’s head, “– oof.”

Deidara flipped the Uchiha his middle finger, nails painted in black, “Hmm, nice one, Sasori – no – Danna, un. But it would be much better if you threw your knife instead.” The slender raven was typing his debit card password into the number pad, free hand soothing two bruises simultaneously – one at the front, other at the back. The nasty one on the centre of his forehead would need to be covered using some foundation, lest his nosy cousin Shisui question him about it. Besides, a marred face was unpresentable around Kisame.

“Yeah… Danna? How about having a seat at my place?” The blond’s tone shifted from smug to blank, “Yes, and you, Uchiha, un.”

Itachi made a brilliant parody of Deidara’s earlier statement, “Wow, Iwa, such a nice deal, _un_.” Deidara’s speech impediment was forced nasally in a French fashion by the weasel, “What a miracle of Jashin you have finally bestowed us some of your kindness.”

“Now that you’ve reminded me how much of an ass you are, Uchiha, I take the invitation back, un.”

Unbeknownst to the arguing frenemies, Sasori brought out a hidden hardback book, titled ‘Computational biochemistry and biophysics’. The scorpion was a man of many talents, included was his creepy fascination with poisons, and consequently, drug design. Each hand grabbing a book, he gave a pummel using both publications at the same instant to opposite sides of Itachi and Deidara’s heads. One and the other long – haired freshmen together unconsciously complained about their newest injury with strangled squeaks, Deidara afterwards being appalled at getting the same treatment as the Uchiha and reacting the same way as the Uchiha.

“Ow, un! What the hell, Danna?”

Sasori shrugged his shoulders and blinked, the embodiment of innocence, “I don’t know, brat. Does being annoying ring a bell?”

Before Deidara could bring up a retort, Sasori’s phone rang. It was his old grandmother, Chiyo.

The redhead nearly gave himself two slaps to the face. This awkward call at this awkward time was most definitely Jashin’s work, the act of God punishing Sasori for physically damaging his adorable juniors.

“Sasori?” Chiyo’s loud hollering nearly cracked Sasori’s ear drums.

“Yes, Chiyo?” Sasori groaned.

“Young man, it’s only been a short while since I last saw you, and you’ve become so ill – mannered!” At the other end of the phone, the old lady putted down her sewing needles, “Don’t you call me anything else than granny, even if you are no longer legally a child!”

There was something else on Chiyo’s end except his granduncle. Sasori focused on the extra voice, it sounded like…

“– Now place your bets… Cho!” A series of middle – aged men yelling their bets, but there was a female voice betting something against the vast majority, “Han!” Who was apparently the dealer continued, “Let me see your results! Snake eyes – cho!” Followed by the identical woman groaning in despair.

“Granny… Are you at a casino?”

“No! I’m at Tsunade’s place, remember slug auntie from the hospital I worked at, scorpling? Haha, you used to go to her office –”

“Alright, granny. Please do not recite my dark history out loud, thank you very much.” Deidara crept in to eavesdrop on the intriguing conversation which included some of Sasori – no – Danna’s embarrassing history, but was kicked away by a leg coming from the puppeteer right to his crotch. Unwilling to be blessed with debilitating pain, the blond sidestepped the kick and grinned in defeat.

“Sasori!” Chiyo scolded his grandson, “You are still too young to tell me what to do and what not to do!”

Before his grandmother could continue on, the engineering student switched topics, anything would be a better alternative to this personal hell, “Why have you called me, granny? Have you mailed me something again?”

“Yes, can’t let my dear scorpling freeze to death because he hasn’t got one of granny’s knitted sweaters, no?”

“Thanks granny,” Sasori muttered, evident embarrassment all over his entire being as a thick aura, “My friends are calling me. Goodbye.” And hung up the call, leaving Chiyo to complain to her younger brother about how rude her grandson was and entertain herself using Tsunade’s famous bad luck at the same time.

The brat could always make a rotten situation worse with his impish attitude.

“Well, well, Sasori – no – Danna, embarrassing stories we have over here, un?”

“None of your business, brat.” Sasori snapped back, not in the mood to deal with any extra half – hearted requests specific for rubbing salt onto open wounds.

“Ah, so that’s why, Danna, un. As I’ve said earlier, yeah, you need some cheering up at my place!” The blond clapped his hands together, so dastardly repulsive with the inviting bubbly attitude, “Now Uchiha, since Sasori – no – Danna needs such a great cheering up, you should also come, un.”

“Hn.” Itachi nodded. Deidara could always be incredibly manipulative if he wanted to, managing to dig out the raven’s confirmation.

Several turns on the locked door was all it takes to open towards a room of clay sculptures and paper littered across. Sasori screwed his nose at the unhygienic habits of the brat, but somehow Itachi does not seem to mind so much. The scorpion picked up a piece of paper strewn over the floor, scribbled on the sheet was multiple patterns of – skeletal cyclohexane rings in all sorts of conformations? And a ring system he could not recognise.

When the engineering student was fumbling in his mind to figure out the other ring system, Deidara went through his cabinet to grab three mugs and a bottle of wine in the small freezer.

“Scagolia ‘Petali di Rose’. Produced from Brachetto grapes. The wine does not fit your image, Iwa.”

Deidara gritted, “Shut up, Uchiha. Whatever booze I drink is none of your business, un.” It was amusing how Deidara picked up the habit of using the phrase ‘none of your business’ from Sasori between their so – married sprawl sessions.

Itachi shrugged in apathy in contrast to his friend’s periodic fluctuations in temper, maintaining the well – groomed Uchiha outlook, “On second thought, Iwa, the wine does fit your image.” Sweet and bubbly could Deidara choose to be. The raven then turned around to admire the contents in the sculptor’s drawers, hoping to find a bottle of foundation which he could borrow. It seems like Deidara owns no cosmetic products except cheap eyeliner and the occasional bottle of nail polish [2].

Mugs were filled with chilled spirits. Nobody could complain about the disastrous uncultured action of not using wine glasses, because substituting all drinking glasses by a simple coffee mug was what cheap university students do. All the time.

Unless you were the Uchiha heir who inherited the pinnacle of Uchiha-ism. Or maybe a Hyuuga.

The chemistry student chugged his drink down in several gulps. Sparkling bubbles emanated up from below, which tickled his throat and nasal cavity. He coughed from the sudden irritation, prompting Sasori to make his timely remark, “Nobody downs sparkling wine like this, brat. Way to choke yourself to death.”

Itachi sat there, stoic as ever. Until he recalled something rather important, and whispered, “Sasori.”

“Yes?”

“Iwa has a low alcohol tolerance. When he is drunk, you know what will happen.”

Sasori widened his eyes in alarm, “Shit.”

The Uchiha crashed his head into the wall, further worsening the already – present bruise, “Now it’s the chance for us to leave, before Iwa becomes crazy.”

“Hey! I’m not finished drinking the brat’s wine yet!”

“Get your priorities straight, Sasori.” Itachi scolded, playing into his big brother role. Then he also kind of realised something, “Oh Jashin, please do not tell me you are also under the influence, Sasori.”

Lest the boys’ night in turn into a make out session which the artists will never live down, Itachi cannot simply leave. His day could not get any worse – first it was the master’s email of fake congratulation, second was multiple bruises dealt by Sasori around his head, and now this.

Two appalling artists drunk.

The sculptor was now hollering something about how “Falkin – Ahn analysis should be named Falkin – Nguyen instead” and “Oonoki is an art – hating shithead”.

Shit was about to get real. The raven grabbed Deidara’s keys to his dormitory, and ran downstairs to the porters to borrow two buckets and a wooden stick. Already seen enough craziness from students during her career of working at the college, fed up long ago by their drunken antics, the porter happily handed Itachi his requested items from the storage room.

He ran back upstairs, internally praising Jashin that he arrived just before the blown – up version of their typical Art Wars began.

First problem at hand was the potential issue of throwing up, which was what the two buckets were for. Hung by the handle around Sasori and Deidara’s necks, mouth pointing towards the opening.

If shit hits the fan, the stick was there to knock them out. Take it, Akasuna, this was retribution for thrice bruising his head.

Sasori was slouched over the brat’s desk, muttering nonsense about Hiruko under his breath and into the bucket.

This was on par with his foolish little brother Sasuke and his emo teenage antics.

Itachi sighed, sitting on the carpeted floor against the wall. He rubbed his eyes in a pathetic attempt to calm himself down during this short break out of the entire drama.

Then he heard his phone vibrating. Someone was calling him.

On the screen, displayed was the name of the caller: Sasuke.

Oh no.

* * *

Footnotes:

[1]: ‘iwa’ could be taken as 岩 (the fan – created surname for our favourite terrorist inspired by his birth village) or 言わ (speak). It’s a pun on Deidara’s chatty mouth. From the kanji of 言わ, it was extended to 言葉 (kotoba), and 若葉 (wakaba).  
[2]: Does nail polish even count as a cosmetic product?


End file.
